


Breaking Into Mandos

by Grundy



Series: Daughters of Celebrían [9]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Namo's probably tired of half-elves bending the rules, The Key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Tindomiel, once known as Dawn Summers, still has the power of the Key. That means she can visit the Halls of Mandos anytime she wants. This trip, she has more than just visiting planned. (And a rather reluctant accomplice.)





	Breaking Into Mandos

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering where Buffy/Anariel is, this story takes place approximately twenty years into the Fourth Age, so she has yet to depart from Middle Earth. Not that she'd stop Dawn if she were there - she'd probably want to visit too.

“This is a bad idea,” Anairon said nervously.

Tindomiel, as usual, didn’t pay much attention.

Anairon said that about a lot of her ideas – and then inevitably wound up going along for the ride anyway. He was never quite sure how it happened, only that it somehow did.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he added.

That got no more reaction than his first statement.

“Why does it have to be me?” he asked plaintively.

Their parents may generally be considered indulgent – Anairon knew perfectly well most of Tirion thought that both Anairë and Celebrían were far too lax with the only children living with them – but unlike his easy-going descendant Elrond, Nolofinwë was liable to put his foot firmly _down_ over something of this magnitude. Anairon wasn’t sure what his father would do, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

At least he’d finally gotten a reaction.

Three girls snorted in unison.

“Seriously?” Tindomiel asked. “You worry too much. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Then why can’t Tasariel or Califiriel go with you?” he asked, trying for reason. “They want to go!”

Tasariel sighed.

“Because much as we’d like to go, we’d like even more to not be confined to the House of the Golden Flower forever for doing something like this when we’re not of age yet,” she replied as though it should have been obvious.

“I’m not sure why the ‘of age’ part matters so much to Atto,” Califiriel mused. “I mean, shouldn’t it be the other way around? Isn’t it more understandable if we get into mischief while we’re still _kids_?”

Tindomiel and Anairon had officially come of age several months ago, but the Laurefindiel had another fifty years to go. Despite the difference in their years, the four of them were great friends.

“Parental logic makes no sense,” Tindomiel said sagely. “But stop worrying, you’ll only get locked up if we get caught, and we’re not going to get caught.”

Anairon snorted.

“I’ve heard that before,” he muttered.

“When have I ever gotten us caught?” Tindomiel demanded indignantly.

“Would you like me to answer that in chronological order, or geographical?” Anairon shot back in exasperation.

It was not a short list.

She rolled her eyes.

“We won’t get caught. I’ve done this loads of times. Stop being such a chicken.”

“We’re trying to sneak into Mandos,” Anairon said through gritted teeth. “The place not even Morgoth could escape from, and you’re not only breaking in, you’re planning to bring someone out without permission and probably against his will. I fail to see how thinking this is a bad idea makes me poultry. Chickens are _sensible_ compared to this plan!”

Tindomiel was not in the least bit fazed. That, from Anairon’s perspective, was the biggest part of the problem – she never was.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We might run into your brothers while we’re there,” she wheedled. “Or your sister!”

That was how she’d even talked him into coming along in the first place – the idea that he might get to see some of his siblings. He knew perfectly well Tindomiel was hoping to encounter them, so that they might be curious and inspired to want to return to life.

Tindomiel had all but given up on getting Turukano to take a proper interest in his littlest brother. She loved her great-great-grandfather, and she liked New Gondolin where he spent pretty much all his time, but she had told Anairon she was starting to think Turukano and his big ball of issues would be a problem best left for the twins or Anariel to solve.

According to Tindomiel’s reasoning, Anariel was going to need a new hobby, what with nothing to slay in the Blessed Realm- and she was apparently itching to tell Turukano off anyway, though Anairon wasn’t quite sure why. (If Tindomiel knew, she wasn’t saying. Anairon didn’t think she actually did.)

She hadn’t explained that she was planning to bring someone out of Mandos this visit until they were here.

“I really have done this before, minus the bringing someone out part,” Tindomiel said reasonably. “I’ve even talked to people in there. It’s never been a problem.”

“Anyway, we’re just going in, finding Aikanaro, and coming back. As long as you don’t whine too much, no one’s even going to notice us. Tas and Cali will hold down the fort out here and have dinner ready for us when we get back.”

The girls in question grinned.

They would have loved to go along, for they had heard enough from Tindomiel to be intrigued at the idea of visiting dead relatives. But after their escapade at the Gate of Wood the previous month, they were wary of being restricted to their father’s hall as he’d promised would happen if they didn’t think more carefully the next time such an opportunity for mischief presented itself.

“I’m a better cook than they are,” Anairon protested, but it was a feeble retort.

He was going with her and he knew it.

“For the record,” he said as she took his hand and dragged him in the direction of the walls, “this is still a bad idea.”

“Oh, shush,” she chided him.

She added a soft chicken sound for good measure just before they – to his great surprise – walked _through_ the wall.

“See?” she said quietly, letting go of his hand. “No big deal.”

Anairon looked curiously around. It seemed like something of a big deal to him. The Halls didn’t look that large from the outside, but inside, they were _vast_. He saw little that made sense to him, and nothing at all to help them orient themselves. As far as he could tell, they weren’t even standing on anything in particular.

 _How are we going to find him?_ he asked silently, trying his utmost to make no noise. He hoped osanwë would pass unnoticed, but he suspected the same would not be true of actual speech. What little sound he could hear could only be described as _almost_ whispers, and he had no great desire to get caught trespassing by the Lord of these halls. Or anyone else, for that matter.

It really didn’t help his nerves to remember that his uncle Fëanaro was in here somewhere.

Tindomiel shrugged and set off to her left, leaving him little choice but to follow.

“I don’t think it makes any difference if we talk,” she said. _Or talk. I think it’s all the same here._

“How do you know?” Anairon asked dubiously- and quietly.

She shrugged.

“Just do,” she replied blithely. “Come on, this way.”

He followed her as she steered them confidently through things that might have been corridors, seeming to know where she was going until suddenly she sped up, as though reacting to something chasing them, and finally darted through a door that definitely hadn’t been there until she looked for it.

“Can I mention again that this is a bad idea?” he hissed.

He _knew_ the look on her face. It was the look of ‘just realized that someone with the power of Trouble is looking for us’- the one she inevitably got right before they get caught putting one of her bad ideas into practice.

She clapped a hand over his mouth as she whirled to gesture at the wall. The door vanished.

 _Shut. Up._ she thought fiercely.

 _I thought you said it didn’t matter if it was voice or osanwë!_ he retorted.

 _I changed my mind! Shut up anyway!_ she fired back, hand still over his mouth and glaring at him with a finger in front of her own lips for emphasis, as she tried to listen to something he couldn’t hear.

He rolled his eyes and turned to look around. That was when they realized they weren’t alone.

When they’d entered, he could have sworn the room was empty. But now that Tindomiel had touched him, he saw what he suspected was more like what she was seeing. He wondered if she’d been seeing things like this the _entire time_...

The room they’d taken refuge in was occupied by eight dead neri, who were looking at them with varied expressions of surprise and amusement.

Anairon’s jaw dropped as he realized one of them looked like him, except slightly shorter. It had to be his oldest brother. He blinked and glanced to Tindomiel, who was ignoring the rest of the room as unimportant, attuned to whatever or whoever had worried her in the first place.

He pulled urgently on her hand, and could feel her irritation. While she didn’t use osanwë exactly, he got the urgency of not making noise on any level. He froze, counting patiently to keep himself calm, until she relaxed.

“I swear I’m going to make a recording of me making chicken noises, it’ll be faster than actually doing them every time you freak out,” she muttered.

“What is a _recording_?” came a curious new voice.

That’s when Tindomiel finally paid attention to occupants of the room.

“Tinu?” said one of the dead reprovingly. “What are you doing here?”

Anairon was now completely lost. Why would Findekano be with anyone who would know Tindomiel? They all looked Noldorin, and if it wasn’t for one of them knowing Tindomiel, he would have thought he recognized them from family portraits…

“Haru!” she beamed, crossing the space to give him a delighted hug.

The rest of the dead elves couldn’t seem to decide which was more surprising – that Fëanor’s second son had somehow acquired a granddaughter, that said granddaughter was only just barely of age, or that she could actually hug him despite him being dead (and therefore body-less) while she was very much alive.

Anairon gave her a bemused look.

“How do you figure?” he asked in confusion.

“This is my grandfather Makalaurë,” she explained easily.

“Makalaurë’s not your grandfather,” he protested. “He’s…”

Anairon trailed off, because he wasn’t actually sure what the relation was between Tindomiel and his half cousins. He and Tindomiel called each other cousin, because it was easier and more accurately described their emotional relationship, but he was actually her great-great-granduncle. (And her first cousin twice removed. Tindomiel’s family tree was _complicated_.)

Tindomiel merely looked amused at his predicament.

“He raised my father, so that makes him my grandfather,” she replied. “I mean, yeah, if you want to be persnickety, he’s actually some kind of cousin at several removes on both sides, but haru’s more accurate. And you’re _never_ going to convince Anariel otherwise, so you might as well just give up now.”

Anairon’s pinched look made her giggle.

“You still have not answered the question,” said the elf who had asked about recordings.

“Which one?” Tindomiel asked curiously. “And who are you?”

It was Makalaurë who answered, with look on his face that suggested he was managing the impossible, getting a headache despite not actually having a head that could physically ache.

“Tinu, these are my brothers,” he explained, pointing at each in turn as he introduced them. “Maitimo, Tyelkormo, Carnistir, Curufinwë, and Ambarussa. And that is your great uncle Findekano.”

“Hi,” she said brightly to the room at large. “I’m Tindomiel and this is Anairon.”

She pointedly elbowed Anairon, who felt there was considerable irony in getting reminders from Tindomiel about proper manners.

“Greetings, kinsmen,” Anairon said politely.

With a glare at Tindomiel, he added quietly, “Still a bad idea and getting worse all the time.”

“Chicken recording,” she hissed back, before returning her attention to her ‘grandfather’. “Why are you calling the twins by the same name? Isn’t one Amras and the other Amrod? Or whatever their names were before they got Sindarized?”

“What is a recording?” demanded one of the dark-haired sons of Fëanor in irritation.

 “You said he’s Curufin, right?” she asked Makalaurë suspiciously.

At his nod, Tindomiel’s eyes narrowed in a way Anairon knew meant danger. Any other time, he would have prayed that she would not pick a fight, but praying right now would probably just draw attention they did not want.

This would not go well.

“In that case, ‘recording’ is for me to know and you to find out,” she said frostily. “Actually, you two-” she pointed at Curufinwë and Tyelkormo, “should just not talk at all so I won’t be tempted to do anything that will get me in actual trouble.”

“Actual trouble? You mean _worse_ than just sneaking into Mandos and deciding that we should hide out with the elves in the biggest trouble of all?” Anairon asked in an acid undertone.

Seeing the smirks and snickers around the room, he realized he hadn’t said it quietly enough. He tried not to blush.

“Please. If we wanted the elf in the biggest trouble of all, I’m pretty sure that’s still Uncle Butthead. Who you’ll notice we are _not_ visiting.”

Anairon couldn’t help the whimper. He was having visions of being killed by the sons of ‘Uncle Butthead’, who were all known to be very loyal to their father. Bright side, he’d finally get to spend some time with his older siblings. Not so bright side – dying had never sounded particularly pleasant, and he was pretty sure that once he wasn’t dead anymore, he would be in big trouble when his parents found out.

It was little consolation to know his cousins would be right in trouble with him – all eight of them.

_Chicken recording!_

_You can make all the bird noises you want, it’s_ still _a bad idea! Can we_ go _now?_

“Tinu,” Makalaurë interrupted, “if it’s not too much of a distraction from quarreling with your…”

“Great-great uncle or cousin I forget how many removes,” Tindomiel clarified, giving Anairon a withering look as she spoke. “Usually we just say cousin. It saves time. But somebody’s feeling pedantic today…”

 “What exactly are you doing here?” Makalaurë finished.

 _“An excellent question,”_ came a new voice.

It was a voice that clearly did not belong to any elf, and every elf in the room – living and dead – knew it.

 _NOW will you admit that this was a bad idea?_ Anairon demanded, crossing his arms in sheer exasperation, and had he only known it, doing a fairly good impression of his father that had the rest of the room stifling snickers.

 _Bah-GAWK!_ was the only answer Tindomiel gave him.

Tyelkormo had been forbidden to talk, but not to laugh – he broke into loud guffaws. Curufinwë relieved his frustration by punching his older brother.

The Lord of Mandos stepped through the wall without bothering about doors, looking curiously around until he spotted the two living elves.

“ _Explain yourselves, young ones_.”

Anairon debated saying ‘it was _her_ idea’ but decided that as often as he’d been chided for not living up to Findekano’s reputation for valor and chivalry, right in front of his eldest brother was probably not the best place to abandon Tindomiel to her just desserts.

Even if she _really_ deserved it this time…

“We’re just visiting,” Tindomiel said politely.

“ _Is this true?”_ Mandos asked Anairon directly.

Tindomiel’s not so subtle stomp on his foot was not nearly enough to inspire him to lie to a Vala.

“Not exactly, sir,” he admitted. “We are actually-“

“Looking for a round square!” Tindomiel broke in. _And if you say this is a bad idea one more time, so help me…_

“ _You do realize, young one, that even if I cannot see what_ you _intend,_ his _mind is clear as the waters of Lorellin?”_

Tindomiel’s shoulders sagged only slightly as she gave up the game.

“Fine, we’re here to get Aegnor, and since we stumbled onto _them_ , I was kinda thinking of taking Caranthir while we were at it.”

Eyebrows rose all over the room, and the dead portion of the population were torn between looking at a visibly startled Carnistir and watching the drama unfold – particularly since the Lord of Mandos didn’t seem inclined to either reprove the girl for her temerity or laugh uproariously at the idea that anyone could be taken from his halls without his permission.

Even more surprisingly, Tindomiel showed every sign of waiting with infinite patience while the Doomsman considered her statement.

“ _The son of Arafinwë you may take with you,”_ Mandos said at long last. “ _The son of Fëanaro remains.”_

“Thank you, my lord,” Anairon said politely.

In a more pointed tone, he added, “Tinwë, let’s go.” _Before the nice Doomsman changes his mind!_

She yanked her hand out of his before he could take a single step.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“ _There are conditions on his release,”_ Mandos began, before glancing around.

Abruptly, the conversation between the impudent young nis and the Judge became private as a wall appeared around them, hiding them from sight and blocking all sound.  No one else could observe their debate.  (And Anairon was positive it was a debate. He loved his cousin dearly, but Tindomiel was _very_ used to getting what she wanted, one way or another.)

He sighed, and tried to work out whether Tindomiel arguing with the Doomsman was better or worse than Tindomiel picking a fight with Curufinwë Atarinkë.  He eventually decided that they were in trouble either way, it was really only a matter of degree at this point.

“So, Anairon, you said you are Tindomiel’s cousin- whose son are you?” Makalaurë asked kindly, glancing toward Findekano as if he expected the answer already.

Anairon glanced nervously at the spot where his partner in crime had been obscured from sight before answering.

“Nolofinwë and Anairë are my parents,” he replied.

He was gratified to see his oldest brother start at that.

“How old are you, little brother?” Findekano asked curiously, looking rather as if he would have liked to hug him but knew that it wouldn’t work for them as it had for Makalaurë and Tindomiel.

“Just barely an adult,” Anairon admitted, trying not to be too pleased that Findekano would call him that. “I was begotten after Father was released from the Halls. I am of an age with Tindomiel.”

He felt a little bit silly explaining when he’d been begotten, because really, when else could it have been that Findekano wouldn’t have known about him? Fortunately, his brother didn’t seem to think it was a stupid thing to say. Instead, he smiled.

“Good. I am glad you have a cousin your age. And it sounds as if the pair of you get into as much mischief as any of us did,” Findekano said, sounding both sincerely pleased at the notion of him and Tindomiel being friends and quite satisfied by them getting into mischief.

Anairon would really like to have an actual conversation with his brother, especially since Findekano was showing more signs of interest in him in five minutes than Turukano had ever, but he was starting to seriously worry about Tindomiel and he knew he wasn’t nearly enough to get her out of this if Mandos got angry.

His parents were not going to be happy with him if he came back and she didn’t. Somehow he always ended up taking the lion’s share of the blame for her mischief on account of being technically her elder kinsman.

 _Very_ technically, since she’d actually been begotten five days earlier, and in Endorë, which meant she’d experienced far more than he had in his sheltered childhood in Tirion. He thought it was highly unfair of his parents to consistently treat her as ‘grandchild’ instead of ‘niece’. Nieces got scolded. Grandchildren got away with just about everything.

“You can stop looking so frantic, young one,” Makalaurë said drily. “Namo will have no difficulty determining whose idea this visit was. And no matter how much you may think otherwise, Tindomiel is actually the _least_ troublesome of my granddaughters.”

Abruptly, the walls around Tindomiel and the Doomsman vanished as suddenly as they’d appeared.

Anairon was startled to see that his usually unshakeable cousin actually looked scared. She’d gone utterly white, as if her blood had fled her face for safer parts.

“Tinwë?” he asked worriedly, trying not to glare at the Vala. It was probably rude, and he had no good way to back up his glare, but at the same time, while his cousin might not think things through thoroughly, she nearly always meant well and didn’t deserve to be scared out of her wits.

She seized Carnistir’s wrist, but he could see her hand shook as she did.

“Let’s find Aikanaro before I think too hard about this,” she muttered.

“Tindomiel?” Makalaurë asked, sounding every bit as concerned as Anairon.

“I’m fine, _haru_ ,” she assured him.

“The same sort of fine your sister always is?” he asked suspiciously.

“Slightly more fine than that,” she replied with a frown. “I’m not bleeding or in danger of losing any limbs. Not in an immediate way, at least. Anairon, we need to go. I might puke if I think about this too much longer.”

Anairon was relieved that they found Aikanaro waiting just outside the door, almost as if he’d been summoned.

“Grab onto my arm,” Tindomiel muttered to him, one hand still around Carnistir’s wrist, the other seizing Aikanaro.

He did, and was immensely relieved to feel sun on his face again as they melted back into the outside world.

The Laurefindiel were nowhere to be seen, but a small campfire was smoldering with what looked to be potatoes roasting in it, so he knew they couldn’t be far.

Aikanaro and Carnistir were both blinking, slightly disoriented by their abrupt return to life.

“Um, Tinwë, all your planning and you didn’t consider _clothes_?” Anairon asked.

She did a double take as she looked at them. In the halls, no one had looked naked. But whatever ‘clothing’ they had been wearing in the Halls hadn’t followed them into the living world.

“Oops?” she replied weakly. “Ok, so maybe I could have planned a little bit better. And I did tell you this was the part I hadn’t done before!”

Anairon considered saying ‘I told you this was not a good idea’, but sighed instead and turned to dig through his pack. His clothes might look a little strange on his cousins, but they’d mostly fit, and at least the pair of them wouldn’t be wandering around naked.

Tindomiel, Tasariel, and Califiriel were probably Sindarin enough not to be bothered, but walking into Tirion with two naked grandsons of Finwë in tow sounded like a sure-fire way to upset his mother.

He was also pretty sure neither of his cousins would appreciate being welcomed back to life with a lecture from their aunt on decorum and proper behavior in princes, in particular _wearing clothes_.

“Ok, as you’re fond of saying- _spill_ ,” Anairon ordered. “What happened with Namo?”

She bit her lip.

“I’m going to be _grounded_ just as long as you are for this, so I think I deserve to know,” he pointed out. “Also, thank you so very much for introducing my parents to that concept.”

 “Yeah, I’m probably not going to be allowed out of the palace for years, am I?” she sighed ruefully. “Chances are they’ll finish New Imladris before Nana relents. Maybe my brothers can put in a good word for me whenever they arrive.”

“That’s very comforting,” Anairon sighed. He’d just been getting used to being able to travel freely. “The explanation?”

“I’m the security for Uncle Carnistir’s good behavior,” Tindomiel muttered, speaking more to the ground than to her cousin or her newly returned kinsmen.

Anairon waited a beat for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, he was about to prompt her to explain, but to his surprise, his half-cousin beat him to it.

“Meaning what exactly?” Carnistir asked, his voice somewhat gravelly, like he’d just woken up.

Tindomiel was getting herself under control, but Anairon had the impression she was still slightly sick about the idea. He wondered why under the sun she’d gone ahead and done it if it was so scary.

“Meaning if you do something boneheaded again and get thrown out into the Void, I go with you,” she said quietly.

“You’re his security,” Anairon muttered weakly, looking from one cousin to the other, and getting a little nauseous himself as he recalled that this was one of the cousins at fault for not only the Kinslaying in Alqualondë and Doriath, but all the deaths on the Ice – including Elenwë.

It wasn’t just his parents and hers who were going to be upset when they found out about this.

“You could get thrown into the Void. Great, nothing can _possibly_ go wrong.”

Carnistir laughed, though there was no mirth in it whatsoever.

“If Manwë and Varda have seen fit not to hold me to the terms of my foolish Oath, I am not about to do anything to get myself cast into the Everlasting Darkness,” he assured them. “Though I am rather curious as to why you would take such a risk for me.”

“It wasn’t for you,” Tindomiel shot back immediately, sounding far more herself. “It was because I wasn’t going to tell your son I’d seen you and _not_ brought you back when I knew darn well I could.”

“Even though the possibility of the Void scares you so much you nearly peed yourself?” Carnistir asked.

The words might sound insulting, were it not for the fact that his tone indicated he was impressed.

“It’s less the Void part than the ‘Morgoth would probably find me and bleed me dry in about five minutes flat’ part, but yeah, basically,” Tindomiel agreed. “So I’d really appreciate it if you’d promise to behave, at least until my sister gets here.”

“What has your sister to do with it?” Aikanaro asked, finally joining the conversation.

Tindomiel shrugged.

“If she goes with me, I have nothing to worry about, cause Morgoth’s getting his ass kicked six ways from Sunday.”


End file.
